


Dire Straits

by LuceCannon21



Category: Original Work
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Cast, Found Family, Gen, Giant Robots, Mecha, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Outer Space, Science Fiction, Space Opera, This is only the beginning, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuceCannon21/pseuds/LuceCannon21
Summary: Ten years after Earth was all but abandoned, a promising young Mech Pilot named Asir Kemp joins the ranks of the Broken Land, a ship on a mission to protect other planets from coming under the control of the Ph'Genit, imperialist aliens with the power of "Beasts", massive bio-mechanical creatures from beyond the stars, at their sides. Asir intends to take on the whole galaxy, protecting what matters to them and living up to the tales of the Heroes of the Seven Day War.But despite what legends may tell us, not all Heroes are worthy of Praise, and not all Villains are deserving of scorn.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Arrival upon the Broken Land

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original work, so if you have found and enjoyed it, I thank you for keeping my passion alive. 
> 
> Tags will be updated as story progresses, so please do not worry if this is all there is.
> 
> My best friend and editor Al does not have a Ao3 account that I know of, so i'm thanking her for her beta reading skills and going through to fix my terrible typos.

Earth was a shithole these days, Mars was the seat of federation power, and few colonies outside of the Sol system were even considering surrendering to the Ph’Genit. But for Asir Kemp that was the last of their problems. Currently, they were aboard the Borough class ship Broken Land and were trying to find their way to the HAU Bay, aka Bay 7, to meet one Captain Lynch. 

Sadly, the bay they had arrived in from the shuttle that had taken them from the Martian city of Curiosity to the Broken Land had no maps, and most of the workers were busy preparing various shuttles for return flights, so they didn’t feel like bothering anyone. 

“Well... Guess I should just... Start walking...” they mumbled, making their way to an elevator leading into the main halls of the ship. As they pressed a button, they softly whispered to themself “How did I even get into this program... Maybe it's just a hoax.” 

But that didn’t stop them from ambling along the hall, sticking to the right as one would as if they were still in elementary school, duffel bag bumping against their side. 

Everything they owned was in that bag, and still, it wasn’t very heavy. It was mostly thrift store clothing, and a few other essentials. Even now, they were wearing a rather eclectic outfit just because they felt wearing it would have been easier than packing it. Denim overalls rolled up to show odd paired socks, converse, and an ample amount of calf. The shirt underneath was a large “Hawaiian” print shirt, though they were pretty sure Hawaii was mostly flooded these days, so any shirts they were making were mostly... wet. They pushed up their new glasses, already sliding down their nose, though whether it was poor fitting or their nervous sweat they couldn’t tell. The frames, which the optometrist had promised were the cheapest and sturdiest choice, took up about half of their face and uncannily reminded Asir of what many called “Grandpa glasses.” 

It was certainly a choice. Better than generic black t-shirts and oversized jeans that they had once been given on the regular. At least this showed they had some semblance of personality, no matter how weird it might be. Asir also welcomed the ability to see things like tree leaves and such, considering their recent departure from any semblance of Terra Firma. 

They had spent about 15 minutes wandering the halls of what must have been a storage area of the ship, hoping against hope it would bring them to Bay 7, but instead, they had found nothing and no one. 

Suddenly, as they were about to turn a corner, a large figure, at least a foot taller than them and solid as an oak, slammed them to the ground with the force of a truck. 

“Shit!” As they fell, Asir looked up to chastise the assailant, only to feel the words die on their tongue as they locked eyes with him. 

The man was wearing a massive wool coat despite the ship being climate controlled, and his hair fell about his shoulders and face as if he hadn’t brushed it in a few days. He smelled like a warm bed, with well-worn cotton sheets, and of... cleaning supplies, maybe bleach or chlorine? Despite his extreme dishevelment, evident by a 5 o’clock shadow and checked baggage under his eyes, there was something stunning about him. For a few seconds too many, Asir simply stared, unsure of what to say. 

But their silence spurred the man to begin walking past without lending a hand, causing them to sputter an unconvincing “Watch where you’re going asshole!” 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that staring’s impolite, kid?” His deep snarl, strained by either sleep or stress, stole any retorts from Asir’s throat as he turned the corner, most likely heading for the elevator down the hall. 

Gaping like a fish, they were only able to shout out a frantic “Fuck you!” long after he was gone. 

Asir remained on the ground for a few moments, face burning, before finally standing back up and brushing off their now only slightly more rumpled than usual outfit. Rounding the corner where the man had come from, they found another elevator, this one requiring A level clearance, which it was lucky they had. They fished the identification card from their pocket and swiped it in the designated slot, allowing them access to both the elevator and a map of various restricted locations, Bay 7 included. 

The term HAU wasn’t as widely used as the name the inventor of the Athena system had coined herself: “Dire”. Though, on paper, they were still called Heavy Armor Units, or HAUs. 

These machines were 50-foot beasts of engineering wonder, perfected shortly after the attack on earth 10 years ago. Before the attacks there had been Mechs, of course, largely used for construction work. Those mere half ton appliances would be easily obliterated by a HAU. As Asir looked over Bay 7, and all the Dire units stored within, they realized just how small they were. 

“Wow...” they muttered. “Big...” 

“They certainly are! Wonders of technology never cease, huh?” The woman seemed to have materialized from thin air; Asir certainly hadn’t heard her enter and yet here she was, looming over them beaming with a combination of pride and excitement. She wore a simple tracksuit with a what appeared to be a college sports shirt at first, until Asir squinted a bit more and saw the slogan “Sports!” rendered in the color and style of university jerseys. 

Nerves shot by their less-than-ideal orientation, Asir had taken up a defensive fighting stance and jumped at least a foot in the air. 

“WHOAREYOUWHYDIDYOUSNEAKUPONMEWHEREISCAPTAINLYNCH?” they yelped 

“That would be me.” 

“OH. OK.” They scrambled to salvage this first impression, leaning against the guardrail to seem cool. “I’m Asir Kemp, the new HAU pilot.” 

“I know, there’s an ID photo in your file.” 

“Well... I never got a file for you. So that’s why I was surprised.” They muttered, more to their shoes than the commanding officer they accidentally berated. “Uhm. So, you fly one of these things too?” 

“Oh no, I'm more like your eyes on the ground, so to speak. I make sure all you pilots are up to speed and prepared for anything.” She laughed warmly. “Wouldn't catch me dead in one of those beasts, you’re all much braver than I am.” 

“Oh really? Huh.” Asir looked across the Bay at the several mechs crouched for storage. “Which one is mine?” 

“Yours is being updated right now, so it's not out here. But it should be by tomorrow, when we begin the voyage.” 

“Ah... Well, what now?” 

“Well, now we get you settled in and introduce you to the other pilots, as you all have a training session before dinner.” She clapped Asir’s shoulder. “Come on, let's get going.” 

“Yeah! Of course!” Asir was beyond excited to make friends for the first time in forever. They had worked their ass off to get where they were now. It had taken months of testing and trials to rise to B rank Piloting and get assigned to a real squad, not just infantry. This was the moment that would define everything from now on. 

The common area for Dire pilots was set up more like a swanky living room from the 1960s. A pit in the middle of the room lined with couches and cushions facing a large entertainment system, the kitchen facing a wall of rooms, each labelled with a number and name on the right hand side. Three people lounged on the couches, chatting as an episode of the classic show “Piss Detective” played in the background. 

“I trust you all are being productive in here?” Captain Lynch called sternly, a hint of amusement in their gaze. The three figures shifted in their seats to greet the new occupants. 

“’Course we are Lynch! Team bonding exercise!” a boy replied, his chin leaning against the sofa in the conversation pit. He had deep brown skin, a bright pink workout shirt, and a friendly, albeit crooked, smile. 

“Well, make sure to include Asir then. They could use some bonding time.” Asir smiled nervously at the people regarding them with the trained eyes of tacticians, just as they were. 

“You like Piss Detective?” the guy eyed Asir quizzically, his chin still on the sofa. 

“I uh, don’t hate it? Which one is this? London or Miami?” Asir took an uncertain step further into the room, wrinkling their nose. “I like London more.” 

“I like this kid. Finally, someone agrees that PD London is better!” Sitting on the steps of the conversation pit was a lovely young person sporting a rather eclectic hairstyle, shaved on one side, twirling a dangling braid around their finger. “These two think Miami is better because of its budget but no one bothers to talk about the passion in PDL!” 

“Glad to see you aren't trying to eat them. Asir, that is Alister Williams, the one in the bright shirt is Camille Sullivan, and over on the beanbag is Khouri Gaines. Everyone, this is Asir Kemp, our newest pilot.” 

The girl in the beanbag smiled “Welcome to the team, kid. Glad to have you.” 

“Khouri, Asir is the same age as you, don’t be rude.” Lynch sighed. “Where’s Bennet?” 

“Ran out about an hour ago half dressed, something about being late for his appointment.” Khouri replied, rolling her eyes. “Dumbass needs to stop sleeping through his alarms.” 

“Khouri. Don’t be rude.” Lynch pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, make sure he makes it to training before dinner, you can lecture him on his sleep habits later.” 

“Asir, you should take room 76- the one at the end, only shares a wall with one person. Also like, it's your assigned room. I think.” Alister smiled sheepishly, resting their chin in their hand. “It's the only one left.” 

“Thanks, I guess...” Asir slipped past the conversation pit, wondering how they didn’t accidentally trip into it late at night while trying to use the kitchen. 

“Alright, can I trust you all to not kill each other and make it in time for training?” Lynch didn’t wait for a reply. “Good, see you all at 1700!” She grinned before heading back out of the common area to Space Jesus knows where. 

“Well then... Uh... I’m gonna hang out in my room for a bit... Unpack and stuff.” Asir trailed off, eliciting only nods from the other three. 

The silence was uncomfortable and choking, even with the dulcet tones of the Piss Detective in the background, so they quickly made their retreat into their new room. 

The room was set up efficiently and simply, with a bed recessed into the wall, surrounded by storage for clothes or shelves for other belongings. Asir refolded their clothes from their duffel bag and stored them in the two drawers under the bed. On the far side of the room, a desk which folded against the wall to allow more space and a chair that would most likely end up covered in clothes by the end of the month. A mirror and sink were built into the wall next to what they presumed to be the bathroom door. After the long shuttle ride up to the ship, Asir felt a shower was in order and, to their delight, there was not just a shower in the bathroom, but one of those deep soaking tubs. Eager to lay in hot water for the first time in... they weren’t even certain, they ran the water as they undressed. 

There were basic soaps like one might find in a hotel, tiny bottles not meant to last more than a few uses, and bar soap that would most likely dry out their skin the second they stepped out into colder air. 

Scrubbing wasn’t difficult, towels and washcloths being provided, though they assumed these would be the only ones they would get, so they likewise guessed they would have to do laundry frequently. Soaking in the tub was almost heaven; Asir allowed all their worries to drift away as they rested their cheek on the side of the bath, nearly drifting off every couple of minutes. 

They got out after they assumed an hour or so had passed and made their way to the bed, where they found a pair of long black leggings with a saddle foot forbidding them from sliding up too far, and a pastel green sweatshirt they had cut into a crop top a few months back, the similarly cropped sleeves making it more of a cropped muscle shirt with a hood. Of course, they also wore their sports bra underneath, but they wanted to at least look cute when training, not just functional. 

Currently, their only shoes were the red converse they had gotten a few months back in celebration of when they were accepted into the pilot training program with high test scores. In the time that had passed, their shitty cheap slip-ons had fallen apart. 

They walked back into the common area, pushing their glasses back into place, and noticed Camille, playing a game on the tv. One they were rather familiar with. 

“Is that Whoops! All War Crimes: Hauge?” 

“Yeah, you know WaWC?” He grinned, pausing the game as one of the over 150 cut scenes rolled. 

“It was only a staple of my childhood! I think my favorite is Epsilon Squad.” Asir settled on the arm of the couch, suddenly more comfortable under Camille’s gaze even as he scoffed. 

“No way, Delta squad for life.” 

“Are you sure? Because Epsilon was the first series to show the High Command force in full action!” 

“Yeah but Delta squad has the waterboarding scene! You cannot say that that is less iconic than anything in Epsilon!” Camille looked back at the entertainment system and noticed the time. “We really should head to training, Lynch will get pissed if we’re late. But on the way, I will convince you of Delta Squad’s clear superiority. Mark my words.” 

Asir grinned “Try me dude, I know what I'm about.” 

On the walk to the private gym for officers, Asir and Camille traded opinions about Whoops all War crimes and their preferred series. 

“Delta Squad S is where it really gets going though, and it is so much better than anything in Epsilon or even Beta Team!” Camille was growing frustrated with Asir’s refusal to acknowledge that the Delta series was better, rooted in nostalgia of all things: they had grown up with Epsilon squad. 

“Why should I wait till Delta Squad S when I could get better action in the first season of Epsilon?” Asir insisted. 

“Because you get connected to the characters of course! Epsilon is just a bunch of blank slates, at least Delta has some interesting characters!” 

“If by interesting you mean idiots then sure.” They crossed their arms “No one tops Doctor Una Thackle in my eyes.” 

“Ugh she's just there for fanservice!” 

As they approached the gym, Asir patted Camille on the shoulder consolingly. “You will see the light of Epsilon eventually my friend...” 

The door slid open, and Camille’s eyes lit up. 

“Oh Ben! There you are!” He ran up to the man standing at the edge of the sparring mats set up in the center of the room. “Ben, meet Asir, they’re our new teammate!” 

Asir froze as Bennet turned to face them. Dark clothing, disheveled long hair, now pulled up into a tight ponytail, stubble shaved, but eyebags big as ever despite of his newly pristine visage. 

“YOU. THE ASSHOLE FROM THE HALLWAY.” Asir roared, pointing at him in righteous indignation. 

“Oh god.” Bennet groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”


	2. Three, Two, One, Fight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you come face to face with the guy who left you on the ground in a hallway sometimes you have to kick his ass, or try at least.

“So, uh, you guys have met already?” Camille smiled uncomfortably, his arm around Bennet’s shoulder as Asir glared daggers at him. 

“Yeah, but I assumed they were just some kind of rude, lost child. Not a pilot.” Bennet grumbled. “Great. Well. Uh...” He took a deep breath and extended a hand in truce. “I’m Bennet Voight. Welcome to the team, I guess.” 

Asir’s arms remained folded across their chest. “You know, usually when someone runs into someone else, they at least stop to help them up!” Asir stormed across the room to a row of treadmills to warm up, entering their preferred settings and barely concealing absolutely seething with anger. 

After about fifteen minutes of rage fueled running, Lynch called the team to the center of the room, to the mats set up for sparring sessions. 

“Alright, Camille, you're with Alister. Khouri, you’re coming with me to refine your form. Bennet and Asir, you’ll be working on point sparring.” 

Bennet felt Asir’s eyes boring holes into the nape of his neck as they walked to the mats, settling on opposite sides. 

“If you like, I could go easy on you, kid. I don’t want you crying on your first day.” He spoke in this low, rumbling tone, like the growl of a jungle cat approaching its prey. 

Asir was not one to be intimidated so easily. “I’m not a child you know. I’ve learned how to fight just like the rest of you.” They took up a stance they had learned during their basic training, apparently a better defense than the basic, feral style they had picked up in childhood. 

“I’m sure you have, but I'm also a foot taller than you. I really don’t want you to break anything.” 

“Then don’t let me hit you.” Asir smirked. 

They took off running at that, hoping to catch Bennet off guard, or at the least, get a point in before he had time to react, but they underestimated his reflexes. In a flash, Bennet side stepped their attack and struck the side of their head with an open palm. 

“Point.” He declared flatly. That tone, completely devoid of emotion, only made Asir angrier. As if he was bragging. They redoubled their effort, trying to land a hit on his stomach, but he deflected with a fluid wrist movement. Turning their momentum against them, he swept his leg under theirs, throwing them to the ground. 

“Point.” 

He extended his hand to them, a stark contrast to his behavior that morning. They took it, but they didn’t do so with the intention of getting up. 

Their fingers locked around his wrist and they slammed their feet into his ankle, dragging him down with them. As he careened into the mat with a groan, Asir placed their weight at the small of his back, pinning his arm between his shoulder blades, a wide grin on their face. 

“Point, motherfucker.” They hissed; breath warm on his ear. 

“Watch your mouth.” He gritted his teeth and twisted quickly, throwing Asir from their perch. He wasted no time turning the tables on them, quickly pinning their arms above their head, his left leg holding their legs flat against the mat. “Point.” 

Asir felt their pulse pounding in their ears. Who did this guy who think he was? All they saw was a dickhead with a boring taste in fashion. 

Bennet got up and dusted his sweatpants off, taking a defensive stance common in kickboxing or MMA fighting. “I’m not helping you up this time. Not falling for the same trick twice.” 

“Smart.” Asir muttered, slightly disappointed that they’d burned their most effective move so quickly. 

Bennet was much taller than Asir, but that also gave them a lower center of gravity. If they played their cards right, they should be able to at least do some more damage. 

Except they couldn’t. Bennett seemed to grow faster with every point, and Asir kept getting hit. Over, and over, and over again. 

When Bennett reached six points, Asir still only had one, and they were ready to do something stupid. 

Bennet brushed some stray hairs from his face, confident and calm. He was sure he would win. 

Before they had time to think, and while Bennet was slightly distracted, Asir ran at him. He prepared for a hit on the upper half of his body, guessing they were still trying to knock the wind out of him. Nothing could’ve prepared him for Asir sliding on their knees, grabbing him by the knees, and suddenly, violently... 

Biting him? 

Bennet froze for a few seconds, feeling his sparring partner’s teeth sink into the outside of his thigh, his mind racing to register what had just happened. 

“W-What the fuck is wrong with the you?” he sputtered, face growing heated. 

Asir grinned up at him smugly. “Point!” 

“I-I don’t know if that... Counts...” Bennet choked on the words, having just been bitten by a near stranger. 

“It does now.” Asir still hadn’t let go, their warm body pressed against his right leg like a Koala on a tree. 

“Sure. Sure. But uh, can you... Get off me please?” He had no idea how to react, his mind full of fog. He glanced about the room for support from Camille, or Alister, or even Khouri, but he only saw them barely restraining giggles. 

“Oh! Yeah.” Asir shuffled back and returned to their feet, looking somewhat sheepish. “I know biting isn’t really polite per se, but honestly, tough battles require unorthodox solutions. You’re really hard to get a hit in on.” 

Bennet scoffed, but he was a wreck right now. If he had been at his prime, there was no way a stupid gambit like that would have worked. He shoved his hair back, quickly tightening the elastic to keep the ponytail in place. He felt more frustrated than anything, he was one point from winning this match, so why hadn’t he just ended it? Why not just get it over with? Put this rude, angry child in their place? 

He heard laughter in Khouri’s direction. Typical. She had never liked him, but as he listened closer, he heard Camille, Alister, and even Captain Lynch. Were they laughing at him? Of course they were. Why wouldn’t they be? His form was embarrassing, he kept letting his guard down. He needed to leave. He needed to end this so he could leave. 

Asir assumed Bennet had technically already won and was talking with Camille and Khouri across the room about what they would have for dinner. Feeling the mat shift behind them, they turned to face him. 

“So Benny, what do you want for dinner?” 

Bennet drew back his fist and knocked the wind out of Asir’s body with a strike to the diaphragm. He was gone before they hit the ground, gasping for air. 

The other three pilots, shocked at Bennet’s behavior, rushed to their side, trying to help Asir catch their breath. They had been hit before, plenty of times, harder even. But whether it was sheer shock or good technique, Asir needed what felt like ten minutes to recover. 

Captain Lynch ran after Bennet, trying in vain to call him back for reprimanding. He was long gone. 

Dinner was awkward. The four remaining pilots went to the ship’s Main Street, modeled after a shopping district in some Earth town with faux brick walls, glass shopfronts, and a rotating array of restaurants. Most ships above “Town” class had such an area to help with cabin fever among passengers and crew. It was a welcome addition; most people spent at least an hour on Main Street a day. Even though you could get meals delivered to your quarters, or go to various dining halls across the ship, nothing beat pretending like you were on a planet in a restaurant with all your friends. 

Asir had decided that Camille, Khouri, and Alister were their friends. As they all shared a plate of nachos together, they made friendly conversation about anything but their awkward confrontation with Bennet. 

Except for Khouri, intent on insulting and chastising Bennet as though she hadn’t registered his absence. 

“He always does bullshit like this. Remember when he used my mug and then when I got it back the fucking handle was snapped off? And he refused to say anything about it?” 

“You talk about this every time he fucks up. Of course, yes, we remember.” Alister promised, knocking back what Asir was now sure was not just a glass of cola with a long-suffering sigh. 

Camille, the only person willing to defend Bennett, cut in. “Look, you saw him earlier, he was most likely...” he trailed off, apparently knowing more than he was letting on. “Something was up.” 

Asir was still holding an icepack against their ribs but refused to be bitter about it. “It's alright, if he has a problem with me, then he can do as he wishes. When it comes down to it, I could always let him die out in space if he pisses me off too much!” They laughed, eliciting concerned looks from the other pilots. They stopped laughing, a blush painting their cheeks. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t actually do that.” 

“Yeah. I get that.” Khouri snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time I thought about it. He’s insufferable.” 

“You just don’t like that he won't let you in his room.” Camille protested. 

“Or maybe I don’t like the fact that he's a sneaky little bastard and doesn’t fucking tell us anything which, on the battlefield, could get us killed!” She took an angry mouthful of nachos. 

Asir slumped against the table. “He needs to get his shit together.” 

“You could say that again.” Alister grunted, raising a glass. 

Everyone clinked their glasses together as their entrees arrived. 

Bennet flopped into bed defeated, replaying the lecture from Lynch repeatedly in his mind. Just because he was the Admirals grandson didn’t mean he could just assault a new teammate unprompted. Obviously that kind of behavior wouldn't fly. 

He rolled onto his back, rubbing his face, trying to rationalize his own stupid behavior. He left it at that, just stupidity. He pulled his blankets up to his neck as if the cotton could bury his shame, forgoing dinner as a sort of self-flagellation, and didn’t sleep as much as black out. 

In his dreams he saw them again, saw their deaths again, saw everything he had ever regretted. Reliving it felt like it took days, or even years, but when he woke up, the clock on his desk read 0300, too late to wake up Asir and apologize, but the perfect time for a dive into self-loathing 

He packed his gym bag with a towel, goggles, cap, and swimsuit, and walked to the pool on the other side of the ship. It was a 15-minute walk that would be even faster if he used the elevators, but he opted for the stairs, wary of small spaces after the night’s ordeal. 

The pool was his haven late at night. It was always open, with electronic lifeguards patrolling the perimeter to make sure he didn’t fall asleep and drown. He changed in the locker room, devoid of activity, and began swimming laps at 0330. He found solace in rhythm of it: backstroke, freestyle, and sometimes, just floating. It wasn’t hard to relax when the pool was heated and allowed you to float freely. 

The ceiling was a pale imitation of the stars surrounding the ship, as it wasn’t anywhere actually close to the hull. But, for just a moment, he pretended it was real. He tried to count every star, the same way he had as a child. Before he lost them. Comfortably in keeping with the status quo, he failed miserably at three hundred and twenty-seven. 

That’s how it was- it was impossible to count every single star, as they appeared infinite, but he tried all the same because he knew they weren’t. For now, it seemed, his eyes continued to fool his mind. 

He found himself wishing they were that unreliable when it had happened. Was that what had kept him from believing it all those years ago? 

He dove beneath the water, as if he could drown out those thoughts. It was hard enough to focus day to day with that thought constantly at the back of his mind, let alone count the innumerable pinpricks of light above. 

He swam to the edge of the pool, getting out and wrapping himself in his towel. He would hang up his star counting hat for the day. He needed coffee. 

Asir hated coffee. Frankly, they hated most bitter foods, regardless of the caffeine benefit and so they greeted their morning a glass of lactose free milk. As the door to the common area opened, Asir found themselves wondering who else was crazy enough to be awake at 0500 when a figure stumbled over to the room next to theirs. Bennet Voight looked like someone had tried to drown him, as his hair hung around his face like seagrass, and dripped onto his clothes. 

He hadn't noticed them sitting in the dark kitchen yet, simply dropping his duffel in front of his door and digging through the pantry for a packet of instant coffee. He turned towards the cupboard for a mug and saw Asir’s silent form standing in the kitchen holding that glass of milk. 

He didn’t say anything at first, simply sighing and walking over, pulling a simple white mug with the name “Bennett” repeatedly printed on the surface in pristine red penmanship. 

His voice was different when he spoke this time. It seemed... smaller, somehow. Guarded, no longer on the offensive. 

“Sorry about earlier.” he muttered remorsefully, shaking a packet of instant coffee into the hot water, retreating to his room before they could open their mouth to reply. Asir suddenly realized they had no idea what to make of Bennet Voight.


	3. Test Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Broken Land sets off on its maiden voyage, characters begin to bond. Camille and Asir play with robots, Bennet has lunch.

Most of the people living on the Broken Land gathered in the Viewing Bridge Park to see the ship set off for its destination several star systems over. This included the five Dire pilots, who looked down at the planet Mars as it seemed to drift ever further away. “This is my first time leaving the orbit of Mars...” Camille muttered. 

“You were born on Mars?” Asir was leaning against a bench, the grass squeaking under their shoes as they watched the red planet slowly fade from view. 

“Yeah, my parents both moved there for work before they met and settled down. Eventually they brought the whole family with ‘em.” 

“Before the war?” Asir scuffed the dirt with the heel of their shoe. “I’m from Earth. Most people I knew had at least been before the war.” 

“Yeah, they just liked Mars more, I guess. More engineering jobs and all.” 

“You’re from Earth, Asir?” Khouri looked up at Asir from the bench. 

“Yeah. Staten Island, New York. We saw the Beasts come down and destroy Manhattan before the invasion started.” Asir felt they weren’t being serious enough, but they didn’t know how else to describe it. They had been pretty young when it happened. Besides, the real horror wasn’t the destruction that day, it was what came after. 

“Isn’t that where the 7th day victory took place? Did you see that?” 

“Nah... My parents dropped me off at my school and I stayed there until it was over...” Asir smiled “Heard about it on the radio. When it happened, I think my teacher cried out of joy.” 

“Ben, You’re from earth, right?” Camille asked, snapping Bennet from a daze as he looked out at the infinite blackness of space. 

“Oh, yeah. London.” He said, not really listening to the conversation at hand. 

“Wow, how wild is it that you were both at the impact zones.” Alister said. “Though I think I read once that kids from impact zones are more likely to want to be pilots. Something about revenge fantasies.” They squinted at Bennet and Asir, half joking. “You two won't do anything stupid for revenge or anything, right guys?” 

“Oh god, no! I just took the aptitude test because I had no idea what to do with my life!” Asir smiled. “I just want to keep people safe, y’know?” 

“What about you, Bennet?” Alister said, to which there was no response. They elbowed Bennet in the side. “Dude what's up with you?” 

Bennet shook his head, rubbing his eyes “Sorry, I had a rough night.” He paused “I joined because It's just... What happened. I got into it early, and... here I am.” 

“Don't forget nepotism.” Khouri snorted. 

“Oh, and what about you, Khouri? You just wanted that fame and fortune that comes with getting up to S rank!” Alister smirked “Don't act all high and mighty.” 

Khouri rolled her eyes, and Asir watched as Bennet began to drift away from the group. He had been rather quiet today, and something told them it wasn’t something new. No one had questioned his flimsy excuse for his absentmindedness, or even bothered to ask where he was going. 

“So, how long have you all known each other?” Asir sat next to Khouri on the bench, facing the opposite side of space from Mars. 

“Well Bennet and Cam have been friends since... What, like ten years now?” Khouri turned to Camille in question. 

“Yeah, give or take a few.” Camille replied sitting on the grass next to the bench. “And we just met you guys about a month ago.” 

“Yeah, Alister and I met when we moved in, before they dismissed the temporary team. I’m glad so they found you Asir, the striker on that team was such a sleazeball. Just because he was A rank, thought he could get anything he wanted.” Khouri wrinkled her nose in disgust. She often looked like that when she talked about Bennet too, though Asir had yet to find a reason for. Bennet seemed, his odd behavior considered, relatively polite with everyone. 

“You’ve lived on the ship for a month?” Asir rested their head in their hands. 

“Well yeah, but Bennet's been living here since it was approved for commission.” Camille stretched out on the grass, sighing contentedly. “No wonder he won't let anyone in his room, it's probably a mess.” 

“How come he’s been here so long?” Bennet had faded into the dissipating crowd, as crew members returned to their stations for work. 

“Because his granddaddy is the ship admiral. Which is the only reason he's a mech pilot.” Khouri said this with great confidence. 

“Wait, what?!” Asir gasped “You have to be kidding me!” 

“She is. If anything, his grandfather is holding him back.” Camille fixed Khouri with a look of rebuke. “He could easily be at A, or even S rank, but his grandfather doesn’t want him on the front lines, so he tried everything to make sure he wouldn’t get above B rank.” 

Asir’s mouth hung open. “He's ... The admiral’s grandson? You have to be kidding me, that’s so cool!” 

“He’s just some old man, same as any military higher-up.” Alister sighed, their glossy black hair pulled into a short ponytail now, the shaved side making it lean to the other side easily. 

“I’ve met Admiral Foda, He’s a nice guy. Good beard.” Camille rubbed his chin in envy of the admiral’s full, thick facial hair. 

“I’m guessing he’s not his paternal grandfather, then?” Asir had begun peeling pieces of grass apart, wondering how long it had taken for them to plant enough to qualify the ship’s observation deck as a park. 

“Yeah, I never met his parents. Ben... He doesn’t talk about his gramps much.” Camille sighed, getting up. “Alright, well if y’all want to find me, I'll be in Bay 7, I want to know if they did the tune ups I asked for right.” 

Asir leapt to their feet, remembering Captain Lynch and how she said their dire would probably be ready by the time they had set off from Mars. “Take me with you. I want to see the HAUs again.” 

Bennet remembered he had lunch with his Grandfather as they were leaving Mars’ orbit. He made sure not to announce his departure from the observation deck, hoping to avoid the withering stare Khouri would give him when he mentioned his grandfather. He had told her that their relation had nothing to do with his assignment to the ship’s defense, but she never listened. 

He had changed into something a bit more polite than usual, trading his worn-down t-shirt and crumpled jeans for a button up shirt and dress pants, though he still wore sturdy combat boots. He couldn’t be bothered to dig for his dress shoes. 

He stood in front of the mirror, shaving away the fast accumulating stubble just as he did every morning, and for a second contemplated shaving off his eyebrows. He quickly dismissed the thought as he worked a brush through his hair, putting it up into a bun and began to scrutinize his appearance. He didn’t like showing up looking like his usual self, as that would mean letting his grandfather think whatever he wanted. At least when he took control of his appearance, it might force the old man to think he had his shit together more than he used to. 

He almost put on the massive wool coat that hung on the back of his desk chair, before setting it back down. He refused to wear that to their lunches, despite how he wore it everywhere else. 

It just didn’t feel right. 

As he left his room, he saw Alister and Khouri sitting in the conversation pit, giggling as they exchanged compliments and frivolous pleasantries. They didn’t stop as he left, reminding him of how invisible he could be sometimes. 

He tended to take the paths less traveled to get anywhere in the ship, but because of their recent departure, every hallway, elevator, or even stairwell had at least one person drifting about aimlessly. He was careful not to collide with anyone again. It was embarrassing enough the first time. 

Admiral Eisa Foda was 70, and yet never really thought about retirement, as he genuinely liked leading the crew of any ship he was assigned to. The Broken Land was newly commissioned, and would likely be the last ship he led, but he was glad that he was entrusted with such a ship despite his age. He had left the bridge in the hands of his first mate Oyemi Mercia, to attend lunch with his grandson, Bennet Voight. 

His personal quarters were near enough to the bridge that it took him little time to arrive, unsurprisingly, finding Bennet had arrived early. He took after his mother in her punctuality and headstrong ways, and yet, was so utterly different. But he partially chalked that up to his rebellious streak. 

“Hafidi, good to see you let yourself in this time.” He tried to have these lunches at least every two weeks, and the last few times, Bennet had just stood in front of the door until Eisa had arrived. 

“Well, better this than standing in the hall.” Bennet sighed. “Do you need my help cooking or..?” 

“Made everything in advance, I know you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary.” Bennet didn’t want to hurt the old man by agreeing, but he had hardly remembered the lunch to begin with, and he wanted to go see what the technicians had done with Tanzer. “Even I can’t mess up koshari.” 

Bennet smiled slightly. Koshari had been his mother’s best dish; apparently a lack of cooking skill ran in the family. Despite how he didn’t usually care for soft foods, which were unfortunately all that his grandfather knew how to make, but he liked Koshari. 

“At least I have training after this, god knows all these carbs will make for good fuel.” He got up and sat at the table next to the small kitchen. 

The Admirals quarters were larger than his own, but still, they felt more like a glorified apartment than anything else. 

“So, Lynch told me you were getting a new addition to the HAU unit. How has that gone?” Bennet fixed his gaze on the tablecloth at the mention of Asir. 

“Fine, nothing that different than usual.” He lied, helping himself to the bowl of various legumes, rice, and pasta. 

“Oh, really?” Bennet was an awful liar, and like most liars, he had many tells. for one thing, he refused to look people in the eyes when he was embarrassed. In this case, however, his more significant tell had a name. “Jamie sent me a lovely message informing me of how my grandson assaulted the new recruit, unprompted, in the middle of training exercises only to flee the scene.” 

Bennet froze mid chew, swallowing slowly. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“Have you talked to Doctor J about this?” 

Bennet sighed. He refused to talk to him about his problems, but gladly told that woman everything, despite not even being family. Though it apparently helped him, so he conceded on that front. 

“No, it was after my appointment.” Bennet sighed. “I apologized, at least. And It’s not like I don’t already regret it. I don’t need a lecture.” 

“You’re the best pilot we have, try to lead by example. You don’t want infighting between your members, do you?” the Admiral noticed with a sigh that Bennet had stopped eating. “It's important to sow trust. How do you think they might feel about you now?” 

“I don’t care about what they think. It's not important as long as they perform well in a fight.” Bennet had the same look of frustration that Tajmeel used to have when he would ask about her grades, or why she hadn't gone into medicine. 

“Well, I don’t want Jamie on my case about how I raise my own grandson because he can’t keep his anger in check.” Eisa wiped his mouth, careful to get any food out of his moustache. 

They ate in silence after that. Eisa worried about his grandson, but he also knew how Bennet felt about him. He thought he didn’t have the right to lecture him, and in some ways, he felt the same. But still, Eisa did worry. 

Bennet finished his bowl and walked stiffly to the sink to wash it off before setting it to dry in the dishrack. 

“Thanks for lunch.” He said, voice much softer now. He could hardly ever could place that voice. He did not remember Tajmeel had ever using that voice. He hadn’t been well acquainted enough with Oskar to know if he had ever used it. 

Perhaps that was a new voice, Eisa found himself thinking as his grandson disappeared through the door. One Bennet could call his own. 

Asir stood in Bay 7, next to the scaffolding for the fifth HAU unit in the bay. Most Bays were built to hold at least 20, in case in a conflict where more were needed. But in the Broken Land, it was decided that only five were necessary. And this was theirs. 

“So, you have an idea of what to name it?” Camille asked, returning from his debriefing with the technicians, having confirmed all but one of his requests had been completed. Cupholders had probably been a long shot anyway. 

“No, not really. What's yours?” Asir walked up to where one of the legs was rested, held in place by metal framing. 

“I call it the Chivalric Savant.” He grinned. “I just thought it sounded dope, y’know, since they have armor and such, why not be a knight?” 

“Huh. What about the other ones?” Asir asked, trying to find inspiration. 

“Khouri calls hers Phantom’s Lament.” He paused “Her favorite musical is Phantom of the Opera.” 

“I could tell.” 

“Alister calls theirs Material Girl. Because of the song. Apparently, it was the only music they had to listen to for the flight up here.” 

Asir laughed “You're kidding me!” 

“Nope, and Ben...” He gestured to the mech, which unlike the other four, had a darker, metallic black sheen to it. “Tanzer.” 

“Huh.” Asir muttered, looking at the looming figure of metal and electronics. 

“I mean, we all picked the names after our first test flight.” Camille grinned. “Why not take it for a spin?” 

The interior of a Dire was like that of a plane, with many, many buttons, switches, and levers. What made a Dire differ quite drastically from a plane, or even other spacecraft, however, was the necessity of the Athena suit. 

A mixture between a wetsuit and riding leathers, the Athena suit negates lag and makes movements between the pilot and the mech fluid as possible. Asir, clad in their custom-tailored Athena suit, climbed into the cramped cockpit of the Dire through its head, their legs slotting into the boot-like restraints and body settling into the deep, cradling seat. 

The cockpit of a Dire was not guaranteed to always be perfectly airtight, nor immune to the unforgiving vacuum of space. Inside the suits was a liquid, somewhat reminiscent of amniotic fluid. Once it entered your lungs, you were able to breathe normally, even speak, as it was oxygen rich, though it muffled the voice as a less efficient medium for sound. But of course, it was nonetheless quite the experience to get used to. Asir felt the goo seep into the underclothes they wore with the Athena suit, but it felt decidedly worse on oncovered skin, like cold Jell-O. 

Camille had convinced the technicians to help Asir launch, insisting it was a rite of passage for any HAU pilot, and totally not a breach of protocol. 

Excitement bubbled in Asir’s stomach as the Dire descended into the launch chamber. Their hand hovered above the button that would fire them off into space. 

With a deep breath, they shouted. 

“Evergreen Regent! Launch!” 

Lights flashed past them quickly, and then, they were out. 

A person, inside a machine, in space. 

They heard Camille cheering in their earpiece as they initiated communication with the ship. “How was that for a name?” 

“You might as well have just called it Redwood! That was awesome though, just like in WaWC!” His voice was measured in audio waves in the heads-up display on the screens of the cockpit. They were giggling uncontrollably. “I mean, what else do you call a massive thing like that!” 

“You get it!” Asir positioned Regent to fly alongside the ship, careful to avoid any thrusters, but eventually grabbing onto a mobility rung on the side, staring out into the void. “Wow... It's beautiful.” 

“Yeah. It can be.” Camille sighed dreamily. “Remember, you only get half an hour out there, or Lynch will have my head.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come back soon. I just want to feel the real thing finally, not one of those simulators.” They breathed deeply, closing their eyes. “This is fantastic.” 

Camille chuckled and turned off his mic, deciding to let Asir enjoy their test flight solo. They didn’t have many chances to pilot these things outside of combat. If all went well, maybe they wouldn’t have to pilot them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please feel free to share, as since this isnt a fandom based story it gets very little traction in Ao3 tags!


	4. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the greatest among us can escape death. Bennet reminisces, Khouri wants, Asir makes Hot chocolate.

The Broken Land was on course to drop off half of its passengers when it connected with the Satellite Syzygy 4131 in the orbit of New Earth, as this was its maiden voyage, it had more than its share of sightseers and travelers, despite its classification as a long term exploration and transport ship. 

Busy as it was, Asir found it exciting. They had never been on a ship larger than Town Class, and to them, this ship was somewhere they felt they might be able to live forever if needed. 

It had all the great things a normal city in a tight knit package. Even though it had only been a week, they already had a favorite restaurant-- the cook at the noodle bar knew them by name. 

This is where they found themselves after practice on a Thursday afternoon, enjoying a bowl of udon after training. 

The entertainment system in the corner was playing the news, and no one was really paying attention to it until the chef began turning up the volume. 

“This morning, on New Earth at 9 am, in his home on the northern coast of Novellus, the renowned HAU pilot and hero of the Seven Day War was found dead in his home earlier this morning.” Asir turned quickly, setting down their chopsticks as everyone in the restaurant went silent. “Harish Angivin, pilot of the Grounder Unit HAU Hardline Mercy, a part of the famous Sunrise Squad.” 

Asir was shocked, as a kid they had seen Harish on tv all the time. He was a strong advocate for people to join the efforts against the Ph’Genit until late last year, when he had announced he was taking a break from media appearances. This wasn’t the triumphant return they had expected. 

“Holy shit...” They heard someone mumble. “Gone in the middle of his prime... How sad.” 

The news anchor went into details of how his maid had found him in his bed this morning, reporting he had died in his sleep. 

“And now, a word from Mr. Bradley Bales, pilot of Divine Intervention, and close friend of Harish.” She said, setting down the tablet she had been reading from. 

The camera swapped, and now the view was on an interviewer and a man everyone knew quite well. Poster child of the war cause, and another member of the Sunrise Squad, Bradley Noah Bales. 

“Mr. Bales, when you were informed of Mr. Angivin’s passing, what went on in your head?” The interviewer asked, leaning forward in their leather chair. 

“Well the first thing I did was wake up my wife, and it took a long while to rationalize that he was just... Gone.” Bales rubbed his temples, searching for words. “Y’know, you know someone for years, you laugh with them, you fight alongside them, and you come to trust them implicitly. You rely on them. And then one day they’re just gone. It feels like some sick joke.” 

The interviewer asked a bunch of small, inconsequential questions, while Asir focused on Bales. He was their inspiration, a fellow striker pilot, and all-around amazing person. They were embarrassed to admit it, but they had printed a poster of him once and hung it on their wall a few years back. Here, however, he didn't wear his charismatic, confident smirk. His eyes looked hollow and empty, and there were large dark circles under his eyes. He slouched in his chair, shoulders deflated with exhaustion and grief. It was hard for Asir to see their hero in such a state-- as a kid, they thought him invincible. Yet here he was, grieving a lost friend like any ordinary man. 

Asir finished their soup and left the noodle bar, resolving to return to their quarters to process this on their own. They walked past hordes of people crowded around phones, whispering to friends, some crying into each other’s shoulders. 

When they reached the common area of the apartments, they resolved to make sure everyone was okay when they could be sure they wouldn’t cry. They weren’t expecting to see anyone here, and they were taken aback when they saw Khouri and Camille sitting in the conversation pit, the very same broadcast playing on the screen across from them. 

“You saw?” They asked, walking cautiously over the steps and sitting across from their teammates. 

“Well duh.” Khouri snapped quickly before she saw the look on Asir‘s face. She softened a little, her gaze apologetic. “It's so sad. People on social media are saying it was a drug overdose.” 

“They aren't saying that on the news...” Camille looked like he had been crying. Asir got up and sat next to their large friend, giving him a hug which he heartily returned. 

“Well, yeah. Even if it wasn’t all propaganda, it's not like they’re going to shatter the perfect image of Harish Angivin on intergalactic television.” She sighed, resting a hand on Camille's shoulder. 

“He was so cool... He came to my school once... I got him to sign something... I lost it afterwards and cried for like a week.” He rubbed his face “I wish I could have gotten his autograph again.” 

The three of them sat quietly for a moment, the news shifting in the background to reports of trade disputes between Litido (T.G.O.C.A.B) and the Terra Federation, the galactic refugee crisis, and all the other things that scrolled along the bottom of the page. 

Alister strolled in cheerfully, stinking of sweat from their time in the gym. “Oh, are we having a cuddle pile?” They slipped into the pit with them, their svelte body drenching the three of them in sweat, eliciting groans of disgust and amusement from their teammates. 

Asir felt their spirits raise a little. They were glad the four of them were such fast friends. They’d never had anything like this on Mars. Asir paused, realizing with a start that this was the first time since arriving on the ship they had really thought of everyone back on Mars. All the other kids in the Foster School and their teachers. It hadn’t been horrible, they got a good schooling, learned responsibility, yet they had never really felt like they belonged there. Broken land felt... different. 

Ever since they arrived, it felt like a place they would be able to call home. Especially this part of it. The common area, their room, the kitchen, it all felt very comforting to come back to after a long day of training. 

Bennet left the gym, determined not to go back to the common area. He stuffed his training gear into a mesh bag, donning his normal black jeans, grey shirt, and wool coat with a different destination in mind. 

Bennet had explored most of the ship, and in the time he had spent on the Broken Land, he’d found nooks and crannies most people never bothered to go to. Places that, to him, were even more private than his own room. 

The Broken Land had been built on Mars, of course, though at its completion it had been quickly launched into space, hopefully to never be landed again. The framework that was made between walls, the comically large vent system, and the strange hallways that seemed to end for no reason led Bennet to believe that in the hubbub with the war with the Ph’Genit, engineers had just stopped caring for efficient design and wanted to make their ships as intimidating as possible on the outside. Sure, there was the Main Street, the Observation Bridge Park, all those “Quality of life features that had been added in for deep space travel. But the ship itself was highly inefficient. Travel took forever, and the dead space between hallways and rooms led him to feel like there must be just endless gaps between the core facilities and the hull. 

But the Broken Land wasn’t supposed to be efficient. It was supposed to be big, flashy. A marvel of space travel: the ocean liner of spaceships. 

He turned a final corner on his journey to lonely bliss and found the hatch at the end of this forgotten hallway into the maintenance tunnels. 

The hatch blended into the blues and greys of the residential sector hallways but had enough of a ridge to be pulled up by someone’s fingers alone and reveal the unpolished guts of the massive ship. 

This particular end of the tunnels had been turned into somewhat of a retreat for Bennet. He knew that there were cameras in his room, in the common area, everywhere in the ship except for the hidden bits that no one knew about. This small corner had become his own personal haven, the one place where he didn't need to perform perfection. Here, he didn't need to tuck everything into the drawers or press his sheets or consider the exact “place” for every item. He settled into his untidy oasis, sinking into the pile of blankets acting as a chair, surrounded a number of strange objects: his most personal possessions. 

Four lockboxes, fifteen books, a bag that he put wrappers and such in, and a few small keepsakes. 

He pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket. It had too many keys-- half of them no longer had any use, but four still did. Unlocking a lockbox, its outside dented and rusted, beige paint peeling slightly, he pulled out an old fashioned, tortoiseshell hairbrush. He never actually used it to brush his hair, as it didn’t do much more than simply touch the surface. But he liked looking at the things in this box. 

Given to him at his parents’ funerals, these 4 boxes were all they had been able to recover from the wreckage of his home. 

In this box, a set of antique tortoiseshell brushes and cosmetic pieces from his mother. The second held a few vintage comics from his father. The third, a polaroid camera, broken thanks to the box being crushed under a bookshelf, and stacks of pictures held together by worn rubber bands. The fourth and final box was where his dad had kept his recipe cards. His father had always told him that the recipes were his most valuable possessions, some of them dating all the way back to his great-great-grandmother. 

To this day, Bennet only ever took out the brushes. He was too worried about damaging the fragile paper of the comics, or the degrading rubber bands, or to ruining the recipes. He sat in the dim red light of the maintenance hall, running his fingers along the back of the largest brush, the hum of pipes and air vents putting him at ease for the first time in weeks. 

The longer he sat there, the more tired he got. He welcomed the warmth of the tunnel; If he closed his eyes for long enough, it was almost as if he was back home in front of the radiator. But the radiator was long gone, rubble, like the rest of his life. Eventually he fell asleep, holding one of these brushes, curled up in his father’s massive wool coat, feeling like a fool. 

A lonely, tired, fool. 

Khouri didn’t know where Bennet went off to at times. But when he was out late, she liked to think he was drinking, or fooling around with people at one of Main Street’s bars. Even though it was obviously not true. It helped her get over the fact that she had become infatuated with one of the most boring pilots in the Federation. But she knew he had an alarm that went off at 2200, as it would go off even when he was back in the common area. And when he was gone, he would always come back around ten minutes after. 

Khouri sat in the conversation pit, watching a recording of some Litido show. The fish people tended to have many political thrillers, military romances, and family dramas, so it was always interesting to watch them. But reading subtitles for too long tended to give her a headache. 

She was about to give up and go to bed when the door to the common area slid open, and she heard the heavy footsteps of Bennet in his combat boots. She sat up quickly, meeting his tired, deep-set eyes. 

“Where were you?” She said softly, voice unused for a while. “We had pasta for dinner.” 

“It's no big deal. I came back, didn’t I?” He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “You know I don’t like talking out here, could we go to your room?” 

Khouri didn’t expect him to be so quick today, but she didn’t argue. She hopped up from the couch, setting her arms on his shoulders. “I hope you’re not getting tired of me Ben.” 

His fingers gently grazed her jaw. “I would tell you if I was, Khouri. Though I am pretty tired tonight.” 

“I’ll make it worth your time.” She grinned. 

Bennet felt that Khouri tried too hard- she was a beautiful girl; she even was interesting when she spoke about her interests. But she had grown up in the type of environment where if you weren’t idolized by someone, anyone, everyone, you were nothing. 

He didn’t think he was the right person to turn to, but she had been nudging him into situations like this since the first day they met. 

It had been less than a week when she dragged him into her room for the first time, not even a week before she and Alister said they were dating. Though Alister was polyamorous, he didn’t think they would take kindly to Khouri not telling them about her engagements with him. 

But as their lips pressed together once more, he let her get her way. She grabbed his wrist and they slipped into Khouri’s room, lit in a soft violet glow from the LED displays at the back of the wall. 

Helping her from her pajamas was easy. Khouri waited for him on the edge of the bed as he untied his shoes, shedding the many layers of clothing he wore despite the ship’s more than adequate climate control. He fixed his hair in a tight bun before joining her, considering the impracticality of his usual ponytail in its length. It didn’t take long for them to get tangled in her sheets, the sweat collecting on their bare skin. 

Khouri had realized Bennet didn’t get much from this exchange weeks ago, but she didn’t care. As long as he was there, his deep voice sometimes whispering words of encouragement or praise, it was more than enough for her. 

He always focused on her, not allowing himself reprieve until she reached the end of the road. It came faster today- all the business with the new pilot and the start of the journey had kept them apart for a bit. She laid under him, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, her arm covering her face. He watched her for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath before he leaned in. 

“I’m sorry, but I have to leave you now. I hope that you don’t mind.” He gently wiped a bead of sweat from her cheek, planting a kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

“But...” She tried to prop herself up on an arm but found herself in need of laying still for a few moments longer. “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He kissed her again, this time on the lips, silencing her protests long enough for him to put his shirt and pants back on and carry the rest of his outfit into the common area. 

He let out a sigh as the door closed, the air no longer choked by the overfamiliar smell of Khouri's perfume. He walked over to the kitchen sink and washed his hands before getting a glass of water taking two ibuprophen. 

He stood there for a beat too long, the door at the end of the wall opening, and a yet to be familiar shape walked into the darkness of the common room. Asir didn’t seem to notice him until they were closing the door to the refrigerator, a carton of lactaid milk in their hand. 

The shock of seeing Bennet nearly made them drop the carton, but they recovered quickly, setting it on the counter. 

“Bennet... Didn’t see you there, man...” They wore shorts and knee-high socks, and Bennet couldn’t tell if it was from the earlier performance, or... something else, but he had to shove a few moments of shock down before responding. 

“Sorry, it's just dark in here. You surprised me.” He muttered, taking another sip of water. “What brings you out here at this hour?” 

Asir took a moment to respond, rummaging through the pantry. “I wanted hot chocolate.” 

They had opened the cabinet, trying to reach for the canister of hot chocolate mix on the top shelf to no avail. They groaned, hoisting their right leg up onto the counter. Bennet sighed, walking over and grabbing the cannister of swiss miss from the shelf, setting it down next to Asir’s frozen form. Bennet became aware of his entirely improper appearance only after realizing how close he was to them and felt warmth rise to the skin at the base of his neck. Some of his hair had fallen loose when he'd run his hand through it in exhaustion, and he probably reeked of sweat and... other things. 

Asir unfroze, slipping back to the ground and taking the canister over to the stovetop without a word. 

Bennet turned to go to his room, setting his cup in the sink. 

“I didn’t know you wore cologne.” Asir said softly, pouring a cup or so of milk into a saucepan. “It’s nice.” Their back was to him, and they did not speak on the matter any further. 

Bennet felt the heat again, creeping up his neck to just below his Adam's apple. He choked out a noncommittal grunt and quickly strode across the common area, returning to his room to hide. This was not their fault. Asir had no idea their innocent compliment had been so horribly placed, he reminded himself. They’re just being friendly, he thought as he laid down face first in his bed and yelled loudly into the mattress. 

Asir settled back into bed, hot chocolate in hand, but they swore they heard something through the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Piss Detective is in reference to Polygon's Nightmare Public Access Show Gill and Gilbert, and their bit, called Piss Constable.
> 
> Whoops all War Crimes is the very serious, non satirized, sexy and good in universe Anime. There is no satire. The waterboarding is horny. Everyone takes this show at face value and there is no subtext at all.
> 
> Dire is a bastardization of the Arabic word for armor, also making for a catchy name for the series. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
